Meddling
by SherlockianWhovian
Summary: Mycroft meddles and changes the Reichenbach Fall plan at the last minute.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Here's a new story! It's an idea that just keeps following me around! Enjoy - and please review.**_

* * *

There was a bang as the door to the rooftop opened. Both Sherlock and Moriarty looked over to the doorway, surprised by the interruption.

"Ice Man." Jim hissed, his voice cold and snake-like.

"Moriarty." Mycroft replied, stepping out onto the roof. He walked casually across the rooftop, swinging his umbrella a little.

"Mycroft? What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked, scanning his brother for clues.

"Step aside, little brother." Mycroft said, not answering Sherlock's questions.

"Big brother is here to save you!" Jim laughed darkly, "Come and play Ice Man."

"What are you doing, Mycroft?" Sherlock demanded.

"I'm meddling, dear brother." Mycroft replied, glancing at Sherlock before he moved closer to Moriarty.

"Sherlock needs to jump or I'll kill his little friends." Jim hissed.

"No. You won't. There's a way to call it off. There always is." Mycroft replied coolly.

"Not this time, Ice Man!" Jim laughed before he shot himself in the head.

Mycroft stepped back with a sigh, "Give me your coat." he said to Sherlock.

"What? No. I'm jumping. We had a plan, Mycroft!" Sherlock protested.

"The plan is flawed. It is predictable." Mycroft replied, "Give me your coat. They need to see you jump, but they'll be looking from a distance."

"Are you completely mad? This won't change anything! I'll still have to chase Moriarty's network. London needs you more than it needs me, Mycroft." Sherlock said.

"I think it's time for me to do some legwork, brother." Mycroft chuckled a little, slipping off his own coat, "Give me your coat."

Sherlock sighed and slipped out of his beloved Belstaff before he handed it over to his brother. He frowned as he took his brother's coat in return. It was plain and formal, without the dramatic flair of his own coat.

"What about your work? How will Her Majesty cope without you?" Sherlock asked, moving to adjust the collar of the Belstaff on his brother.

"She will manage. Anthea will keep things on track on my behalf." Mycroft replied, handing over his umbrella and walking to the edge of the rooftop.

"John will be down there about now." Sherlock said, staying back so he wasn't visible.

"Yes. He's going to have a terrible shock, isn't he? Until he realizes that it's me who's dead and not you." Mycroft replied.

"You're not cut out for legwork." Sherlock muttered.

"Take care of yourself, little brother." Mycroft said before he stepped off the edge of the roof.

Sherlock stayed on the roof for a few moments, listening to the commotion down on the street below. It was John's desperate shout of "Sherlock!" that hurt the most. He turned away from the edge and began the long walk back to street level.

* * *

"Oh Jesus." John muttered from where he was sat in Molly's office.

"It's okay, John. It wasn't Sherlock." Molly tried to reassure.

"It was Mycroft, Molly. God. I'm going to have to tell Sherlock." John sighed. He visibly jumped as Sherlock entered the office.

"John." Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, it's Mycroft. I thought it was you, he was wearing your coat. Jesus, Sherlock. What the hell is going on? You're wearing his coat and he's dead. I saw him fall. Why, Sherlock?" John said, suddenly becoming frustrated.

"I can't explain Mycroft's actions, John." Sherlock replied, "He has a stressful job and he's always suffered with his intelligence."

"Why are you wearing his coat?" John demanded.

"Mycroft is...was...insufferable. He demanded my coat before he jumped off the roof. Very odd." Sherlock replied with a shake of his head, "He gave me this." he added, holding up the umbrella.

"It looks sort of plain without Mycroft." John admitted, looking at the umbrella.

"Yes, well, that was my brother. Plain. Boring. Formal." Sherlock said with a frown, "Come on, John. Let's go home."

"You're handling this very well." John commented as he got to his feet.

"Yes. I hope he's happier wherever he is." Sherlock replied, leading the way out of the morgue.


	2. Chapter 2

"Did he not have a middle name?" John asked as he stood beside Sherlock in front of the shiny marble headstone.

"Yes, two actually." Sherlock said.

"Then why is the headstone so simple? Did he want it to be plain?" John asked.

"Oh yes, John. My brother lived in the shadows, it's only right that his headstone is also vague." Sherlock replied.

"There weren't many people here for the ceremony." John sighed.

"My brother had no friends but many enemies." Sherlock replied, "He preferred to be isolated. Besides, he left me everything in his will, so there is no need for others to be here."

"Do you mind me asking what he actually owned? He seemed to have access to a variety of abandoned warehouses." John laughed.

"He owned a large country manor and estate, a townhouse in Chelsea, a flat in Westminster, various cars and a large fortune." Sherlock summarized, "An impressive haul for a man so boring."

John laughed again, clapping his hand over his mouth, "Laughing at a funeral is a bit not good." he teased.

"I'm sure Mycroft doesn't care." Sherlock chuckled a little, "Come along, John." he added, turning and walking away.

* * *

Sherlock had very little contact with his brother as the man worked to destroy Moriarty's network. Mycroft loved strategy so he found this challenge particularly rewarding. Sherlock received just one text whenever Mycroft moved location, almost as a GPS safety net. The texts were all coordinates and Sherlock had a long list of them now. 48.8567° N, 2.3508° E - Paris, France, 48.1333° N, 11.5667° E - Munich, Germany, 47.4925° N, 19.0514° E - Budapest, Hungary etc. Currently, Mycroft was in or near 44.8167° N, 20.4667° E - Belgrade, Serbia for a lengthy mission. Sherlock didn't expect any contact with his brother, knowing the man would be in deep cover by now.

* * *

"He's not checked in." Anthea said, speaking to Sherlock for the first time in almost two years. There had been little need for them to be in contact, so he'd answered as soon as he'd seen the number calling him.

"When was he meant to check in?" Sherlock asked, looking over the map of Europe he had in his desk draw.

"Three weeks ago." Anthea replied, "His mobile phone stopped transmitting two weeks ago. We think he's been captured."

"What steps are you taking to locate him?" Sherlock asked.

"We're trying to fly agents in, but we don't know his exact location. Mr Holmes went deep undercover, so not even I know where he is. I know he's near Belgrade, but otherwise, I have no idea." Anthea explained.

"Organize a plane and send me a pretend case that will convince John I need to be out of the country for two weeks. I'll go and get him myself." Sherlock decided before he ended the call.

* * *

"You're taking a case in Sweden?" John asked in surprise, "Why?"

"It's at least a 9, John. I can't turn it down. I'll be away for about two weeks, perhaps longer." Sherlock replied.

"It must be good if you're willing to go there in person rather than just consult via webcam." John chuckled.

"It's important to advertise my skills elsewhere in the world, John. You never know when you may need to emigrate in a hurry." Sherlock said.

John laughed, but he couldn't help but believe that Sherlock was partly serious in his answer.

* * *

Sherlock arrived in Belgrade the following day and he quickly changed his appearance. He put on the clothes that Anthea had given him to fit in with the Serbian mafia that Mycroft had been undercover in. He'd perfected his Serbian and he was ready to start searching for his brother.

It took him just three days to infiltrate the mafia and to discover that they were holding Mycroft as a prisoner in an underground bunker. They'd apparently found his phone which was all in English and not Serbian, leading to them looking more closely at him. Mycroft was usually good with details, so Sherlock feared the worst about his brother's health.

"Let me watch. I enjoy torture." he spoke in fluent Serbian to the leader. The man laughed and agreed, allowing Sherlock to sit in on the next few sessions.

Sherlock sat through two interrogation sessions before he managed to put together a plan.

Mycroft ran mental circles around his interrogators, even without sleep and food. He was strong, but it was clear that he was struggling. He kept looking over to Sherlock, as if recognizing him, but his gaze never lingered for too long.

Sherlock took his chance and managed to get Mycroft out, all but dragging his brother from the bunker.

"I'm not done with the mission." Mycroft mumbled as they stumbled to the nearest safe house.

"Oh yes, you're doing so well with this mission. You wouldn't have got any further, brother. They knew you were a British spy, they were just waiting for the right time to kill you." Sherlock explained.

"Back to London then?" Mycroft asked.

"Back to London." Sherlock agreed.


	3. Chapter 3

"It will be sometime before you're able to walk without a cane. Your knee is badly damaged." the doctor said as he examined Mycroft's various injuries on the plane from Serbia to London.

"Yes, I thought as much." Mycroft replied with a grim nod. He'd always been interested in biology, so he had no problem with discussing his injuries with his doctor.

"You need to shave." Sherlock said from a seat opposite his brother in the private plane.

"Oh I don't know, I quite like it." Mycroft replied, running his bruised fingers over the ginger beard that had grown on his face during his imprisonment.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's bright orange." Sherlock replied with a smirk.

"I prefer strawberry blonde to orange, brother." Mycroft chuckled but he winced as the doctor began to set his damaged knee.

"You're lucky your hair isn't that dreadful shade of orange anymore." Sherlock muttered.

"My hair hasn't been ginger since I was a child. It's a dark mahogany now." Mycroft said with pride in his voice.

"Is that the colour it says on the hair dye bottle?" Sherlock laughed.

Mycroft laughed too, enjoying the feeling of safety. He'd missed Sherlock's taunts during his time away.

* * *

"Anthea." Mycroft said with a relieved smile when he'd managed to manoeuvre himself into the chauffeured car after arriving at a private airfield outside of London.

"Mr Holmes." Anthea said with a smile, "You look well."

"I very much doubt that, but thank you, my dear." Mycroft replied, relaxing into the leather seat.

"You don't have to be nice to him, Anthea. He's still an insufferable oaf but with bruises." Sherlock said as he got into the car too, making Anthea sit in the middle between the two of them.

Ever the professional and doting assistant, Anthea wordlessly helped Mycroft out of the car and into his Chelsea home when the car stopped. It was large but contained very little personal possessions, as Mycroft kept most things filed away inside his mind instead.

"Tell me everything." Sherlock said, sitting on the coffee table opposite where Mycroft was on the living room sofa.

"Sherlock. I've just returned home." Mycroft sighed.

"Mycroft, I haven't asked anything of you during the entire journey home. I want to know whether you were successful." Sherlock pouted.

"Yes, overall I was successful. Serbia was my last mission and as you know, that is the only one that I failed. It was the smallest piece of the jigsaw, so it shouldn't matter too much." Mycroft replied, accepting a glass of water from Anthea, "What I really want to know is what I've missed here."

"Not much, Mr Holmes." Anthea assured, "Since you were removing international criminal gangs, very few British gangs had resources to commit crimes. I monitored everything and ensured that everything was going to plan. You haven't been replaced, if that's what you're worried about."

"Replaced? Him?" Sherlock scoffed, "His intellect is wasted in the civil service."

Mycroft looked at his brother, "A compliment, brother? This is my lucky day." he said.

"Not a compliment. A fact. You'd get far more job satisfaction from the mafia and Her Majesty's Secret Service knows that." Sherlock replied.

"Perhaps in my youth." Mycroft agreed, "However as middle age creeps in, I find myself preferring my office to the battlefield. As entertaining as this mission was, I think it is my last."

"You're planning retirement already?" Sherlock teased.

"One must prepare for the future. Don't forget that I'm officially dead, brother, it's fitting to slow down a little, is it not?" Mycroft said.

"If you slow down any further, you'll be beaten by tortoises." Sherlock joked.

One minute Sherlock was sat on the coffee table, the next, he was bent over backwards in a headlock with a loaded gun pressed against his temple.

"I'm not off my game, Sherlock, don't ever make the mistake in thinking that I am." Mycroft said, gripping his brother firmly but without hurting him. He dropped the younger Holmes and put the gun down on the coffee table.

Sherlock coughed a little, rubbing his neck dramatically, "Thou doth protest too much." he murmured, getting to his feet.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Here's a brand new chapter, please leave a review after reading! =]**_

* * *

"Come along, John." Sherlock called as he strolled along the spotless residential street, his long legs enabling him to move much faster than John.

"Who are we visiting? A client?" John replied, jogging a little to catch up with his flatmate.

"Something like that." Sherlock replied, walking up to one of the front doors and letting himself in.

"Sherlock, you can't just go in!" John chided but followed him into the large townhouse. He closed the door and looked around the hallway, pausing a little when he saw a familiar umbrella on the coat-stand in the corner. "This is Mycroft's house." he added quietly.

"Excellent deduction, John." Sherlock praised sarcastically, hanging his coat up.

"What are we doing here?" John asked, uncertainty in his voice.

"To visit Mycroft, obviously." Sherlock replied.

"Sherlock... Mycroft died..." John said gently, thinking his flatmate had clearly snapped.

"Good afternoon, John." Mycroft said from the doorway of the living room, "Short answer? Not dead."

* * *

"Why did he faint? Is he unwell?" came Sherlock's voice from somewhere above John's head.

John opened his eyes and blinked to clear his blurred vision. He found himself on his back in the hall, looking up at the two Holmes brothers.

"It is a common reaction to shock, brother." Mycroft informed Sherlock, "Are you feeling better, Dr Watson?" he added to John.

"You jumped off a roof." John said, sitting up and rubbing his temples as the dull throbs of a headache began.

"Yes and no." Mycroft replied, "Yes, I jumped off a roof. However no, the outcome was not my death, as you expected."

"Right. So you jumped off a roof and you're not dead." John said with a sigh, "So what was the point of your dramatic little performance?"

" _Legwork_." Mycroft replied, a frown forming on his face at the very thought of it.

"You spent the time since you jumped doing fieldwork? Why?" John asked, moving to get to his feet.

"It was necessary to destroy Moriarty. Sherlock was required in London, whereas I was free to travel around the world under Her Majesty's protection." Mycroft replied, a slight smile forming on his lips, "Come and sit in the lounge. I am recovering from knee surgery, so my physical stamina is a little lacking."

"Sit down before you fall down." Sherlock muttered, helping John up and following Mycroft into the front room.

* * *

"And then I had to go and rescue him." Sherlock laughed, enjoying telling John of Mycroft's failure.

"You make it sound as though I was just _lounging around_. I was in fact undercover and learning vital information about a crucial Serbian mafia gang." Mycroft protested.

"You had been undercover, but when I arrived you were ready to start talking." Sherlock teased.

"I was not. No interrogator would ever prise national secrets from me." Mycroft argued, falling into Sherlock's trap.

"Perhaps not. I'm sure all they would have done is asked you and you would have told them everything." Sherlock laughed.

"Really, John, Sherlock's words are all lies." Mycroft said, turning his sharp gaze on the ex-army doctor.

"Don't drag me into this." John replied with a raised eyebrow, sipping at his cup of steaming tea, "I am completely neutral. I am Switzerland."

"Switzerland isn't remotely neutral." Mycroft said, "Especially not when it comes to...Well, you don't need to know about that..."

"See how easy it is to get you to spill state secrets?" Sherlock laughed.

"Don't be ridiculous. I didn't say anything that was remotely secret." Mycroft protested.

"Okay, okay. This is getting tedious now." John sighed, "Is there nothing else we can talk about? Listening to you two argue is not how I want to spend my afternoon."

"Why did you visit, little brother?" Mycroft asked, not even looking at John.

"You've been rather quiet since we returned from Serbia. I would have thought you'd be back at work by now." Sherlock replied.

"Dearest Anthea suggested that I work _part-time_. Temporarily, of course." Mycroft answered, "I find myself in need of a rest after an intense period away from my desk."

"How wonderful to hear that you're enjoying your little holiday. Eating lots of cake, are you?" Sherlock asked sarcastically, "I'd hate to disturb your eating habits, but I need you back at your desk. I can't access restricted buildings and documents with your ID card while you're away. I've already tried."

"I'll do my best to hurry along my holiday, but as you say, I'm having red velvet cake at 4pm." Mycroft replied, his voice cold and his face blank.


	5. Chapter 5

"New umbrella, brother?" Sherlock asked once his brother entered the living room of 221B.

Mycroft looked down at his cane, cleverly disguised as an umbrella. "Something like that." he said, concentrating on walking without a limp.

"Is this just a social call?" Sherlock said, sitting up on the sofa and watching his brother curiously.

"Yes and no. I'm going back to work tomorrow, so I thought it right to issue you with new ID cards. I'd hate for you to be unable to break into restricted buildings just because my ID cards have been stopped." Mycroft replied, sarcasm in his voice.

"Oh good! You being off work has been terribly inconvenient for me." Sherlock said, jumping to his feet.

Mycroft handed over 5 different ID cards. They were all registered to him and weren't exactly official.

"Perfect." Sherlock muttered as he looked over the cards.

"Don't think this is a gift, I can keep an eye on you if I know which cards you have." Mycroft pointed out.

"Predictable." Sherlock chuckled but pocketed the cards anyway.

"Be careful, brother. I can't get you out of every scrape that you get yourself into." Mycroft warned before he made his way to the door.

* * *

"Is this wise?" John asked as they crept through the dark hallways of the government building on Whitehall.

"Of course it is. We have my brother's ID, so a security error won't show as quickly if we use his ID to get into his office." Sherlock replied dismissively.

"But aren't there alarms and codes?" John asked, shining his torch in front of him.

"Oh yes, hundreds, but Mycroft is predictable." Sherlock shrugged.

"I can't believe we're doing this." John muttered, "We're on the run and hiding out in Mycroft's office because you baited a murderer."

"It was a 9, John!" Sherlock argued, "9s are rare!"

"Will you two keep your voices down?" came Mycroft's voice from his office just a few feet away.

Sherlock shoved the door open, "What are you doing here? It's 3am."

"I could say the same to you, brother dear. I'm working, what are you doing here?" Mycroft replied, not looking up from his laptop.

"We're hiding from a murderer that Sherlock baited because the case was a 9." John replied with a long-suffering sigh.

"Is it still the cannibal case?" Mycroft asked, looking up at them.

"No. I solved that one." Sherlock replied, sitting down on one of the office chairs.

"What did he have in his spice cupboard in the end?" Mycroft responded.

"Cajun." Sherlock answered.

The brothers shared a look and John frowned at not being involved in this apparent in-joke.

"Does Her Majesty's Secret Service do room service? Is there a menu?" Sherlock asked, swinging on the chair a little.

"Not anymore. There have been cutbacks, remember?" Mycroft replied, typing away on his laptop again.

"You're not cutting back on the cake then?" Sherlock teased.


End file.
